Somewhere in Spain
The white glow where the plywood met the window frame was gone.
And the closet was as dark as anywhere Kira had ever been, a man-made cave, so lightless that the air around her was almost liquid. Black was not a color but a shade, with gradients. Kira hadn’t known until now. Another lesson courtesy of Jacques and the gang.
Night. She’d been gone almost twenty-four hours. Her parents must be out of their minds. Tony would have told them about Jacques. No doubt they’d started searching. Probably Becks had even asked the FBI and Spanish cops for help. But they didn’t have a name or a picture or any way of knowing where she’d gone.
Better not count on them showing up anytime soon.
Her friends were still in the house. She heard them now and then. But no one had come up to see her since her trip to the bathroom. Hunger and thirst were creeping up again. She remembered now, the ache carried a certain pleasure, the triumph of mind over body. Thirst, not so much. Her tongue was swollen, and she could taste her breath.
She closed her eyes and took herself to Boston Children’s, a prison crueler than this one despite its clean white rooms. Thought of the last time she’d seen Ayla Lafan. She’d given Ayla a present, a T-shirt that said ALWAYS BE YOURSELF UNLESS YOU CAN BE A UNICORN.
Ayla stared at the shirt. “Are they real?” she finally said, in her soft high voice.
Kira had an answer ready. “They might be, A.”
“But no one’s ever seen one.”
“No.”
“They’re not, are they? They’re just not. They’ve never been and they never will be.”
Words that forced on Kira a truth she tried to keep from herself. Ayla knew she was dying, and after so many trips to this place and so many friends lost probably knew what dying was. Her serenity didn’t come from ignorance of the threat. If anything, Ayla wanted to spare her parents from their own fear.
Kira promised herself now that whatever happened she would be as tough as that little girl.
She drifted for a while…
Woke when the light snapped on.
She felt obscurely foolish. How come she hadn’t heard the steps? How had she let someone surprise her when she was in a locked room? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as the door swung open.
Jacques. No doubt he liked sneaking up here, scaring her even in her sleep. He had a folder tucked under his arm. He looked slightly goofy, like the graduate student he’d pretended to be.
“I need to ask some questions.”
“Fuck off.”
His face changed, and she knew she’d gone too far. He came at her in two steps, punched her. Just once, in the diaphragm, the blow placed perfectly and so fast she had no chance to avoid it.
His fist twisted her, left her gasping, drowning in the open air.
Finally her diaphragm unclenched, and she could breathe. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stared up at him. She wanted to curse him again, tell him he didn’t scare her. But he did. All those karate classes and she had no idea what violence really was, no idea what it was like to be hit by a man who wasn’t holding back.
He opened the folder, held up her driver’s license.
“Kira Unsworth. Not such a usual name.”
He tucked the license back in the folder—such an organized kidnapper—and pulled out a piece of paper.
The Washington Post. She saw the newspaper’s squiggly font, and she knew what was coming. “FBI Arrests Russian Agent in Maryland,” Jacques read. “When we looked up your name, to see if we were lucky, you’re a billionaire, this came up. Rebecca Unsworth, who supervised the investigation, said the FBI had received a tip about Kuznetsov several months ago.” He handed her the paper.
She didn’t see how lying would help. “My mom.”
“Your mother is an FBI agent?”
“Way up in the bureau.”
Jacques seemed pleased. “The US government will pay very much for you, I think.”
“That’s not how it works.” Could he really be sophisticated enough to take her the way he had and naïve enough to think the FBI would hand him millions of dollars?
He shrugged. We’ll see. He put away the Post, handed her one final piece of paper, the front page of a Spanish newspaper—El País—neatly folded.
“Stand up, hold this.”
He pulled out his phone, took her picture. “Now give me mommy’s email. And mobile. Daddy also.”
She did.
“Are you rich?”
She wondered if she should ask him to define rich, but she didn’t want to risk another punch.
“My parents both work for the federal government. Not super-rich.”
“Any other money?”
Maybe he already knew, maybe he’d seen it on the Internet somewhere.
“My dad sold a phone app a while ago. Made a bunch of money.” Saved my parents’ marriage. Without that stupid app maybe I wouldn’t be here.
Jacques smiled, the most real smile she’d seen from him. “This app—”
“It’s called Twenty-One. Like blackjack, you know, for casinos.”
“And how much did he get?”
“They never told me.” A lie.
He squatted beside her, the greed flashing in his eyes. “Many millions, yes?”
What if he started to think her parents had ten or twenty million dollars hidden away? Better to tell the truth. “I think it was two million. Enough to buy a house.”
“I thought they didn’t tell you.” A dangerous coldness in his voice.
“They didn’t, but I overheard them once.” Another lie, Brian had been proud of it.
“Spying on mommy and daddy.”
“I promise, there’s no way they have millions in the bank. We’re not rich like that, we flew over in economy class, okay, premium economy—” She made herself stop.
You’re talking too much, Kira. He’s not your friend. He’s not even some cop who pulled you over for speeding and will let you go if you flirt a minute. You’re not going to convince him of anything, you’re not going to make him like you, and if you try you may just make him mad. So hush. Don’t speak unless spoken to.
“You don’t know how much money your parents have?”
“No.”
“But they love you. Their sweet little girl.” He nudged her leg with his boot. “They would give all of it to get you back.”
The question, statement, whatever it was, made her stomach hurt.
He walked to the door. Stopped. Looked her over, head-to-toe. “But, you know, part of me hopes they won’t.”
Even more than Rodrigo, Jacques made her feel dirty, made her want to take a long hot shower.
Then he was gone. The deadbolt slammed. The light dropped.
She wondered how much money he’d want. And what her parents would do to get it.